


Hidden Things

by szm



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Friendship, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-03
Updated: 2012-10-03
Packaged: 2017-11-15 14:23:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/528245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/szm/pseuds/szm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Being saved by Peter does not mean you should trust him. Just because you need him doesn't mean you have to like it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hidden Things

Stiles looked up from where he was slumped on the floor. Peter Hale was standing over the body of… that thing. That thing that used to be a pretty 20-something year old girl, right up until it really wasn’t. Peter was breathing heavy and his claws were out. There’s blood on his _chin_ and the girl, the thing, doesn’t have a throat anymore and Stiles feels sick. 

Derek picked himself up off the floor by the girls car and simultaneously tried to glare at everyone and also not meet anyone’s eyes. It does really interesting things to Derek’s face and Stiles wished he could appreciate the effect more, but right now all he can feel is the panic bubbling up in his chest and he knows how useless that will make him so he does his best to push it down and away. 

“What is the holy hell was that!” he shouted. “We stop to help the girl broken down on the side of the road. Derek takes a look at her car. I was giving her directions, being a good citizen and all. Like you’re supposed too. Then bam! There are claws, and teeth, and - oh my god - _wings_. Actual leathery bat-wings, and what?! Then I felt, I couldn’t stop thinking about, it was… Where the hell did Peter even come from? What were you following us or something? Because that’s just creepy.” 

Stiles couldn’t stop talking until Peter caught one of his flailing arms and pulled him up. His hands human now but still bloody. Stiles focused on the stains Peter’s leaving on his shirt because _that_ is somehow the least disturbing thing to think about right now.

“It was a harpy,” said Peter, pulling on Stiles’ shirt so it sits straight over his t-shirt. He smirked at the t-shirt slogan and then at Stiles. “They hunt people who feel guilty and amplify those feelings, then feed off the emotional energy while they are incapacitated by guilt. I noticed her in town. I was following her, not you. If I hadn’t been she would have killed you both. I killed her. You’re welcome.”

Stiles took a step back out of Peter’s loose grip. He frowned. “A guilt monster?”

Peter is still smiling, it looked wrong in a way smiles shouldn’t but Peter’s always do. “If you like,” he agreed, tipping his head to one side thoughtfully. “Now what could you feel so guilty about that it would affect you like that?”

“How were you not affected?” counters Stiles. “You nearly drove Lydia nuts, you killed people, you killed…”

“I don’t feel guilty,” interrupted Peter, the smile slipping off his face. “It was _burned_ out of me.”

Peter takes a step forward and Stiles doesn’t take a step back. Even though everything in him is screaming that he should. Then he’s looking at the back of Derek’s shoulder because the alpha has forced himself in-between them.

“Stop it, both of you,” he growled. Stiles snapped his mouth shut and tried to swallow down the panic and anger and yes, the guilt too. Because the harpy stirred up a lot of things that Stiles doesn’t think about. (Or at least he tells himself he doesn’t think about). Peter held up his hands in defence and backed off, Derek turned to Stiles. “You should go home,” he said gruffly, his eyes searching Stiles’ face for something. Something Stiles doesn’t want Derek to see. 

“Guilt?” asked Stiles hoping to deflect the attention away from him. 

“I have some,” Derek answers, in what has to be the biggest understatement of the century. “Go home Stiles, I can handle this.”

“You want me to leave you with uncle-rips-people’s-throats-out- and-doesn’t-feel-guilty?” asked Stiles giving Peter the evil eye over Derek’s shoulder.

“Saving both your lives in the process. Again I say ‘you’re welcome’,” Peter sighed, pretending that he thinks Stiles was only talking about the harpy.

“Go home, Stiles,” said Derek staring into Stiles’ eyes now. Stiles wondered when that started feeling like concern rather than a threat. Normally he’d stay, he’d hold some ground, but right now he feels exposed. Like Derek would see too much of the things Stiles keeps tightly locked down. Derek’s already starting to frown so Stiles turns and goes, getting into his jeep and driving away. He tells himself it doesn’t feel like running away. But it does.

His Dad is at work when he gets home. The blood stained clothes go straight in the wash and Stiles gets into the hottest shower he can stand. He rests his head on the tile and screws his face up against the tears. The water pounds on the back of his neck and he lets himself feel it. His Mom, his Dad, Scott. All the failings that he buries behind his babbling and bad jokes, because Stiles’ brain doesn’t ever stop, and if he let them the bad things would take over. When he drags himself to his room hair damp, wearing sleep pants and an old t-shirt, he finds Scott sitting on the edge of the bed. He’s too tired to hide anymore; he drops heavily next to Scott and lets his friend pull him into an awkward hug. Because Scott knows, even if they never talk about this stuff, just like Stiles knows about Scott’s Dad even though he’s never met the man and Scott never, _ever_ mentions him.

“Guilt monster?” asked Scott.

“Harpy,” Stiles corrects, mumbling into Scott’s shoulder. “How did you know?”

“Derek texted me,” Scott shrugged like that was a thing Derek would do. Derek calls, he doesn’t text. Besides Derek doesn’t get Scott-and-Stiles, not really. It was probably Peter texting from Derek’s phone. Stiles very carefully doesn’t think about why the older werewolf would do that. 

They end up lying side by side on Stiles’ bed, staring up at the celling in comfortable silence.

“I don’t trust Peter,” said Stiles eventually.

Scott scoffed. “No-one does.”

“Derek is starting to,” argued Stiles. “He doesn’t want to. But he does. I don’t want Peter to hurt Derek.” Stiles frowned at himself. “Dude, when did I start worrying about Derek?”

Scott just turned his head and grinned. The really rare and totally obnoxious grin that means Scott knows something Stiles hasn’t worked out yet. Stiles had no choice but to hit him with the pillow. “Hey!” Scott objects and pulls the pillow away from Stiles and throws it on the floor. “The alpha pack is coming, we need Peter. You even said that.”

“I don’t have to like it,” said Stiles grumpily.

“We’ll keep Derek safe,” said Scott with a smile, like it would be easy.

“And Alison,” said Stiles. “And my Dad, and your Mom. Lydia, Isaac, Jackson…”

“All of them,” agreed Scott.

And it wasn’t okay. It didn’t make anything easier. But for that moment Stiles let himself believe it. That for once he could keep the people he cared about safe.


End file.
